Short story: Barflies

The pianist sticks to the bench and roughs up the keys like he's sparring with the elephant they came from.

The barflies crush their consciences like grapes in a vat, shuffling and murmuring through a hot summer day in an insect trap, embracing a slow death with six feet stuck to the paper and wings that just won't take you anywhere.

And the breeze through the cracked window like a rebuff from the outside world makes no difference at all.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: grape, conscience, sparring, rebuff, and pianist.

Image courtesy of alfredo lietor.